


she carried the weight of the world (when no one asked her to)

by ashers_kiss



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Injury, Or its Aftermath, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:05:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9184993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: One of them closes the door behind her, and she’s left in the almost-dark.  For just a moment, she has to stop, has to hold on to something and breathe as deep as she possibly can.It doesn’t quite feel like enough.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Not what I thought my first fic of 2017 would be, but here we are. This one follows what's becoming a time-honoured tradition of helping out when my regular fandoms have me stuck. Also, this is all [stripystockings](http://stripystockings.tumblr.com/)' fault.
> 
> Takes place immediately Olivia's ordeal with William Lewis. While I haven't yet seen s15 (the UK freeview channel is actually premiering it tonight), thanks to Wikipedia I know this isn't quite how it goes. But I wanted this to happen, and a little canon divergence never hurt anyone.
> 
> This is part of a larger thing in my head that will probably never be written, but is a lot of fun to imagine. Casey's voice is actually a lot of fun to get into.
> 
> Title from a poem by [starcrossedpoetry](http://starcrossedpoetry.tumblr.com/post/153706894321/shes-not-the-kind-who-needs-saving-she-became).

Casey isn’t entirely sure how she ends up at the hospital. There must have been a cab, and she must have paid, but suddenly she’s walking towards the huddle of people at the end of the corridor, walking _fast_ , heels loud on the tiles.

It’s Fin who sees her coming first, because of course it is. Who looks up, who puts himself between her and the door, hands up and saying her name.

“Where is she?” Her voice feels like _glass_ , like something broken, ground up inside her throat.

Fin, on the other hand, is doing that calm, soothing voice he does so well, nice and slow. It’s not a technique Casey ever thought she’d be on the receiving end of. “She’s just inside. They gave her a sedative, she’s sleeping it off.” He looks tired, Casey thinks – worn out, worn _thin_. Like he hasn’t stopped since they realised –

“Is – ” Casey stops, swallows. “Is she – ?” The words are too thick, and honestly, how was she going to finish that sentence? _Okay?_ He had her for – for so _long_ , even she couldn’t…

Fin’s shaking his head, talking. Appealing to her, almost. It’s more of a struggle than it should be, focusing on him. “We don’t really know anything yet,” he says, reaching out like he’s going to touch her, take her arm – Casey just about manages to shift away, aware of all the eyes on them, strangers, even though she knows them, knows their faces and their names and one of them has a kid, she thinks, and then the door’s opening – 

If Fin looks tired, the guy who leans out of the doorway looks like _shit_. His uniform’s rumpled, shirt unbuttoned too low, and he probably hasn’t even looked at a razor in days. He blinks at them with eyes gone red and gummy, sliding over them all like Casey’s not the only one having trouble making herself focus (not when she can just make out the bed behind him, the hand curled loose on the covers). Then he frowns, fixed back on Casey. “I know you,” he rasps.

“Casey’s our old ADA,” Fin says, turning. Over his shoulder, he flashes her a smile that used to be brighter. “One of the best. She’s a friend,” he adds, and the uniform – Casey knows him, too, his name skidding round her head too fast, too slippery for her to catch – nods. Neither of them offers a hand.

He looks away first, scrubs a hand over his face. “I uh, I gotta go get her some stuff, for when she wakes. Someone needs to sit with her – ”

“I’ll do it,” Casey cuts in, before any of the others can. She can feel eyes on her again, boring through her back, and beside her, Fin sighs like he’s about to say something. She lifts her chin, settles her shoulders. Just like walking into court, she thinks, and meets the stares. “You all need a break, and I’m already here.”

He and Fin share a look – something about it makes Casey’s shoulders, already stiff, completely rigid – but eventually he nods, turns to leave room for her in the doorway. “There’s a buzzer on the bed, if she wakes while I’m gone. Little black button thing.”

“Got it.” She gives Fin one last look, and right now, she doesn’t _care_ how much he sees in it, before she steps inside. One of them closes the door behind her, and she’s left in the almost-dark. For just a moment, she has to stop, has to hold on to something and breathe as deep as she possibly can.

It doesn’t quite feel like enough.

There’s a jacket tossed over the back of one chair, so Casey takes the one on the other side of the bed, furthest from the door. Her hands shake as she smooths out her skirt; her breathing isn’t much better.

Olivia doesn’t so much as twitch when Casey takes her hand, careful of broken nails and bloodied knuckles. Not even a flicker, no matter how hard Casey watches. Her mouth is still puffy from the tape, and there’s a hell of a bruise at her temple looking remarkably like the butt of a gun. Someone’s done their best to clean up the blood, but it still clings to her hairline, to her split lip, a scrape on her jaw, and Casey’s gut churns hot with pure, blinding _hatred_. She wants to _destroy_ him – she wants to dig her bare hands into his chest and tear out his still-beating heart, let him watch as the life drains, slowly, painfully, an hour of suffering for every _second_ he hurt Olivia.

She takes a breath and presses Olivia’s hand between both of hers.

She doesn’t know how long she sits there. It could be hours – it could be _days_ – and she just sits, watching the rise and fall of Olivia’s chest, holding her hand. Please don’t stop, she thinks, and it makes no sense, it’s only a sedative – she’s going to wake up, she _will_ – but it feels like so much _more_. Like Casey should be on her knees, promising things to a power she stopped believing in years ago. Like they haven’t really got her back, not yet.

She’s honestly starting to think about it – can’t hurt, right? – when there’s a hitch in Olivia’s breathing, fingers jerking, and Casey’s on her feet, breath trapped and hard in her throat, too scared to try for more. “Liv?” Her hand detaches itself, flutters around the stray wisps sticking to Olivia’s forehead, pretty much entirely without her permission or her attention. “Olivia – ”

Olivia’s eyes are just as dark as she remembers them, even more now against the sickly sheen of her skin, and for a moment, she looks so lost Casey’s whole being _aches_. Then she smiles, soft and doped up and enough to light up the room. “Hey you.” The words are little more than a croak, but that lump in Casey’s throat squeezes tight, and she thinks she manages a smile back, pathetic and watery though it probably is. (She might even manage a “Hey”, but honestly, it’s barely loud enough for her to hear it, never mind Olivia.)

Olivia tilts her head, blinks. Her smile never fades. “I like your hair,” she says, and Casey’s laugh almost chokes her.

“You too,” because it’s true, her hair’s longer than Casey’s ever seen it, and even stiff with dried sweat and grime, it suits her. Casey swallows, looks away. “I’m just gonna let the doctors know you’re awake,” she says, fumbling for the buzzer in amongst the sheets.

Her grip doesn’t tighten, can’t yet, but Olivia’s fingers spasm around hers, and she makes a faint protesting noise, that line appearing between her eyes. “Don’t go,” she says, but Casey’s already found the buzzer, and then the uniform’s crashing through the door, panic and relief lacing every sweet word he has, the doctor and Cragen right behind him, everyone else peering in from the doorway, and it’s too easy, really, for Casey to let Olivia’s hand go, to slip out the room past everyone, even Fin too preoccupied to notice her – 

(She thinks she hears it, just once as she leaves, Olivia saying her name, almost drowned out by everyone else, by the machines they’re trying to hook her up to and the questions they’ve got to ask. Casey only falters for half a step.)

This time, it seems there’s a whole cacophony of noise to muffle the sound of her heels, machines beeping and people yelling, sobbing, the squeak of wheels and every other sound that could possibly occur in a hospital. It’s enough to give anyone a headache, and she can feel hers building, pounding behind her eyes already.

She doesn’t realise her cheeks are wet until she steps out into the cold.


End file.
